Carry On My Wayward Son
by what the face
Summary: The threat of the apocalypse hangs over humanity. Noah and Aaron, twins, and a huntress in argyle must fight against it at all costs. Along the way they'll meet fellow hunters, angels, demons and various supernatural beings. Puckleberry, Klaine & more
1. Chapter 1

Between the desire, And the spasm  
>Between the potency, And the existence<br>Between the essence, And the descent  
>Falls the Shadow<br>For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is, Life is, For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends  
>This is the way the world ends<br>This is the way the world ends  
>Not with a bang but a whimper.<p>

_—T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men" (1925)_

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><p>The road was never-ending. As far as the eye could see, there was an expanse of dusty red dirt and next to nothing else. Noah 'Puck' Puckerman pulled his sunglasses off of his eyes and tossed them onto the cushion of the passenger's seat, staring ahead at the empty road. The old radio that he had installed in <em>his baby<em> - the 1967 Chevrolet Impala that he had labelled his prized possession - buzzed with the familiar and comforting sound of classic rock – the music of_ badasses. _Almost involuntarily, he found that his gaze traveled to rest on the rear view mirror, checking the back seat for any unwanted passengers. Luckily, he saw none. This didn't mean that he was completely alone, though.

Ever since Puck was a boy he'd known that creatures existed in the world – things that nightmares were made of. He was one of many people who knew about these creatures. His father had raised him and his brother Aaron as hunters – people who hunted the unnatural, the paranormal. He'd seen shit that most people couldn't even _dream_ of. It didn't make for a spectacular childhood, facing ghosts and vampires every second weekend - especially when your father left you, never to be seen again, after opening your eyes to the harshness of the life that was already planned out for your miserable ass.

Puck had known since he was eight years old that he would never be able to do anything else with his life. His brother, Aaron, however, had always fought against these idealism's that their father had forced unto them. He was at college now, as far away from Puck and monsters that he could possibly be. If he wasn't so much like their father, Puck might've admitted that he missed him. But Puck didn't believe in Aaron's outlook on life. He had worked with him for several years, just the two of them, together on the road, fighting whatever opposed them and mankind as a whole. Those had been the greatest years of Puck's sorry life, which he hated to admit. But then Aaron had disappeared and left his brother to his own strange vendetta against the paranormal, to follow his dreams of becoming a doctor. Puck guessed that that was helping people, too, but still.

He just didn't understand how his brother could voluntarily leave a life like this - how he could go on knowing that there were innocent people being murdered and tormented by these creatures and that he was not doing anything to stop it.

Still, these things didn't matter anymore. Puck stood alone, he drove alone, he ate alone, he slept alone and he _fought_ alone. That was the way it had been for the past two years.

The summer sun was harsh on his skin. Its strong rays burnt through the window shield and warmed his face. Ahead, the road was dwindling to a dead end. At the end of the dusty path was a small building that Puck frequently visited. Harvelle's Roadhouse was a bar open to hunters from all over - a place where they could socialize and even sort out issues between themselves. But today, Puck thought, as he pulled the Impala over by the seemingly busy tavern, hunters gathered for neither of those reasons. Today, things were strictly business.

The makeshift car lot built by the Roadhouse was filled with pickup trucks and several presumably stolen vehicles. Puck slammed the driver's door of the Impala, shoved his '45 Pistol into the pocket inside his leather jacket, and began to walk towards the saloon. Above the door hung a 'closed' sign, but Puck knew that this was just a facade to ward off any customers who weren't welcome during the meeting. He pushed the door open and made his way inside.

There were at least thirty hunters spread around the bar and pool table – including Ellen Harvelle, the proprietor of the place. She saw Puck first and raised her hand in welcome. He flashed her his trademark smirk and settled at the bar, where he was immediately surrounded by fellow hunters of the supernatural. He recognised most of them from when they had crossed paths on the hunt, working together to defeat a common enemy.

"Puckerone," greeted Sam Evans, a regular at the inn. They had defeated a poltergeist together not three months ago. Puck had a soft spot for the guy – still, he was no Aaron, and Sam had his own hunting partner now, he had heard.

It wasn't uncommon for hunters to travel in pairs. The road got lonely and it was comforting to know that you had someone to have your back in a confrontation. However, it could be said that working alone did have an upside. If your partner died on the job, it left you questioning your own morality. That wasn't good. You had to keep your wits about you at every moment.

"How you been?" Sam was asking him. Puck looked up at the blonde man before him, who was dressed in ratty old sweater paired with jeans and a cap that he had pulled over his unruly golden locks.

He shrugged. "Been better," Puck told him, smirking. His fingers curled around the beer Ellen had placed in front of him on the counter. He took a long swig before focusing his gaze on the man before him once more. "You?"

Sam sighed, staring at the beer in his friend's hand. Too bad he'd promised himself that he'd stop drinking. "Average. Just finished a case down in Ohio."

"Oh, yeah?" Puck questioned. In all honesty, he knew that Sam was trying to provoke him into telling him about his feelings. A lot of folk expecting him to talk about Aaron leaving for college – to admit that he was, you know, _bummed_ about it or something. But he didn't want to talk about it. He really didn't. At all.

"Yeah," Sam replied, his face falling slightly when he realised that Puck wasn't going to open up to him. "Horde of vampires. Nasty stuff."

They continued their conversation for a while, the occasional man or woman coming up to join them and question them about their latest adventures. Yet, they didn't stay long. Hunters weren't conversational people. They preferred to get down to the point and leave it at that.

At least, that was what_ Puck_ believed.

"I haven't seen_ them_ around here before."

Placing his empty beer glass on the counter before him, Puck turned to face the direction in which Sam was staring. He followed the other man's green-eyed gaze to the two women sitting in the far corner of the bar. They were complete opposites, one as blonde and icy as winter, and the other as warm and bright as summer. The blonde one was the taller of the two, her haircut a ruffled bob and her clothes simple jeans and a black tank top. The smaller one, the brunette, had large, searching brown eyes and a wide smile. She wore a short skirt paired with a woolen sweater. And although it was kind of hot, albeit in a creepy two-year-old kind of way, the part of his mind that was completely focused on the job noted that it was impractical.

"Me neither," Puck said shortly, momentarily mesmerized by the tiny brunette, who sipped tentatively at her beer whilst her blonde friend was chatted up by a hunter he knew from around three years ago.

"You wanna go see where they're from?"

Puck knew that Sam was just using that as an excuse to talk to the pretty blonde. Hunters didn't _come _from anywhere. They didn't really have a home. Well, that was a lie. Puck had the Impala and his mother, Sarah, and his teenage sister, Bec, who lived back in Lima, Ohio. In the Puckerman family, hunting was a male profession. Bec hated that idealism – but Puck adored it. Who wanted to see your little sister possessed and other horrible things that he had had to deal with throughout his existence thus far?

"Guess so."

Sam went first. Puck followed him, about a metre or so behind, stopping to talk to a few friends as he went. He was a popular guy. Maybe that was why little Jo Harvelle had a big old crush on him. He smiled at the sixteen year old who was playing pool with a couple of the older guys. None of them would try anything. Jo was like a little sister for everyone – _family for hire._

By the time he reached Sam and the two women, his friend was deep in conversation with the blonde. The brunette was still sipping at her alcohol, her nose wrinkling a little each time she swallowed, as if she didn't like the taste. When she noticed him standing over her, her eyes widened temporarily. After a second, though, he saw them return to normal. She placed her beer down on the tiny table and sent him a smile. Damn, she smiled big. He wondered how she could be so happy – God knows why they had been called there that day. Ellen had been very secretive about it. By the looks of things, and judging by how many hunters had turned up, it wasn't a _good_ type of meeting. This was the type of meeting where they discussed some big bad ghoul that couldn't be cleaned up by a small group of hunters. No. This wasn't meant to be a social event. Ellen was just warming everybody up so that they would be compliant when she needed them to be.

"Hello," the brunette greeted him. Her tiny hand flew upwards, ready for a handshake. He stared at it from a few seconds before grasping her much smaller hand in his, his expression polite but indifferent.

"Hi."

"I'm Rachel Berry."

"'s Puck," he mumbled. Their hands had remained entwined for_ far_ too long. Feeling stupid, he quickly untangled them and searched for any other means of conversation. Noticing the firearm on the table, he smirked. "How long you been in the business?"

"My whole life," she told him honestly. He noticed the strange sense of hope alight in her eyes. That was strange in itself. Most of the people he knew didn't have much of that. "It's a family tradition."

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "No kidding."

"Was it the same for you?"

"Guess so."

Her eyes narrowed as she bit her lip thoughtfully. "You're not much of a talker," she observed rightfully.

"Most of us aren't."

"I'd have to disagree with that," she laughed, gesturing for him to sit at the empty chair next to her. Sam and her blonde friend were deep in conversation, having hardly noticed anything else going on around them. "Get a little beer into you lot and before you know it, you're all yelling and screaming whilst hustling pool."

The back of his neck went slightly red. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm always right," she assured him. "It's a gift."

He actually chuckled and raised his eyebrows at her. "You might not be right about your choice of outfit."

"What do you mean?" She snapped. Her own eyebrows were furrowed as she reached for her drink again. She hated beer. She wouldn't be caught dead drinking anything else at the Roadhouse, though. She'd be torn to pieces by the other hunters if she ordered anything too 'girly.'

"Well, you're not exactly dressed for hunting anything other than a library book."

By the look on her face, she genuinely hadn't expected _that_. "I am perfectly dressed, thank you very much. And anyway, it's not like we're going to get ambushed _here_. I know for a fact that this place is as prepared as it can be for any sort of attack. Besides, what exactly were you trying to achieve with your haircut? Do you _want_ your enemies to laugh at you?"

He blanched, his hand involuntarily going up to brush through his beloved Mohawk. Nobody insulted the 'hawk. "That's not a problem for me."

She snorted. "Of course."

Unable to resist himself, Puck smirked at her. "So... it's Rachel, huh?"

"That's me."

"This your partner?" He asked her, looking toward the blonde Sam was currently exchanging phone numbers with. Smooth bastard.

"Yes. Quinn and I have been working together for three years now," she mused, smiling, "It's nice to share the job with somebody."

He nodded, suddenly and painfully reminded of his twin brother, Aaron. He shook the memory from his mind, instead focusing his attention on the small woman before him. "Yeah," he said simply. She seemed disappointed at his sudden lapse into silence, but luckily he was saved from the awkward situation by Ellen whistling loudly from behind the bar.

"That's it, you lot! Come on. Let's get this over and done with."

As usual, everybody listened to her. Nobody messed with the owner of the place, lest they be banned from their favourite haunt. Rachel offered him a short smile before standing up, leaving her still half-full glass on the table, but not without grabbing her gun, and slipping past him, towards the crowd of hunters gathering around the large rectangular table on the opposite side of the room.

He turned and watched as Quinn, her partner, bid Sam goodbye for now and followed the tiny woman. Sam stared after the taller girl, a goofy grin on his face.

"No use getting attached," Puck told the love-sick fool, "We don't get to do that stuff."

"Do what stuff?"

"Have families and shit."

Sam sighed, exasperated. "I forgot how cynical you are. You have a family, right? Point proven."

"A fucked up family," Puck muttered.

The blonde man sighed and pulled his cap further down. "Come on. We won't get a seat."

"I'd hate for that to happen," Puck remarked sarcastically. Sam didn't reply. He was already on the move, striding quickly toward the opposite side of the room. The seats were filling quickly. Puck didn't move as quickly as Sam had. He didn't mind standing. He figured he wouldn't like what he was hearing anyway. Why bother with comfort when discomfort was almost inevitable?

Ellen had moved to stand at the head of the rectangular table. Once Puck settled against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, she waited patiently for everyone to become silent once more. They did so almost immediately.

"Thanks for coming," she began shortly. "I'm afraid this isn't going to be good news."

Jo fidgeted anxiously at her mother's side. Puck didn't bat an eye - like every other hunter in the saloon. They all wore the same grave expression.

"This isn't anything we've faced before," Ellen was saying. Puck's fists clenched and unclenched as she uttered those words. "Something's happening that we don't really have the forces to fight."

A few of the men at the front of the table grumbled under their breath.

"No, Howard. You can't fight _anything_," the proprietor snapped. "You need to stop being so cocky and _listen_. This is damn important."

The middle-aged man named Howard shut up after that alright.

"Demons." At that word, a ripple of distaste wove through the crowd of men and women. "Some of us have faced them, others haven't. It doesn't really matter all too much. I'm sure you've all noticed that things aren't exactly the _normal_ level of weird lately."

That was true. The number of cases had increased rapidly over the last few weeks. Puck had thought that maybe it was just a coincidence. It seemed that he was wrong.

"We don't really know _what's_ going on yet," Ellen stated truthfully. "But whatever it is, it's _big_. I can tell you that much. Any of you heard about those nuns murdered in Illinois recently?"

A bunch of hands were raised in the air. Rachel's was amongst them, Puck noticed.

"We all know that that wasn't just your average wacko-job. That was some serious demonic doom."

A few hunters murmured in agreement. Ellen eyed them guardedly, her eyes narrowed as they always seemed to be. Her husband had died a few years back, Puck remembered. She didn't have time for mucking about. There were things that needed to be done.

"There have been other cases that are very, _very_ similar. Always set in a church or a synagogue-"

"Aren't they _always_?" The hunter she had warned before piped up, earning a few uneasy chuckles from his group of friends.

Ellen pursed her lips before speaking, her voice sharp and to the point. "Interrupt me again, Howard, and I'll have to come on over there and smack you one across the back of the head."

Puck smirked as the man named Howard went bright red.

"Now, I called y'all here because I've got word that there's a _serious _demon haunt in an abandoned warehouse somewhere on the outskirts of Lima."

Puck tried to hide his immediate shock. _Lima?_ That was where his sister and mother lived. Aaron. If those bastards so much as-

"There's a load of them there. At least twenty. I've got a couple guys patrolling the area as we speak. I called you all up here to recruit some extra help," Ellen stated. Her gaze flitted across the faces of the men and women sitting and standing around the large rectangular piece of furniture. "That is, of course, if you're ready to risk your lives to help save mankind."

She said the words almost sarcastically. She was taunting those, if there were any, who were considering backing out of such an operation. It was true that this was the largest group of demons that they had ever come across at once. If this was really going to go down, there was no doubt that there would be losses. And by losses, Puck meant deaths.

"That's what I thought," she said, watching as the hunters whispered to one another, their plans already coming together. Nobody wanted to be the person to let the group down, to wimp out and to value their own life above the lives of the innocent people currently residing in Lima. "We leave tomorrow. We're gonna try and catch them before they move on to do whatever else it is that they're planning. But we don't just want to _kill_ them, because let's be honest folks, they don't go down so easily."

A few of the more experienced hunters nodded in understanding. Puck had only faced one demon in his life time. It had scared the absolute shit out of him, seeing such a thing. Aaron had saved his life that day. He would never forget that, no matter how many times he had tried to.

"We plan to capture at least one of the bastards," Ellen told them. There was nothing cocky or confident about her expression. She realised the risk that this case posed. Still, she was right. They needed to get to the bottom of this. They couldn't let the demons congregate, planning and scheming behind their backs. "We'll get as much information out of them as possible. That's the plan."

The table buzzed with gossip. For a moment, it seemed as if they were almost anticipating such a large battle. Puck, personally, hadn't stopped thinking about the demons residing in the same town that his family were living in ever since the bar owner had mentioned their whereabouts.

Ellen coughed loudly and the attention of the large congregation of hunters was captured once more. "We leave tomorrow morning. So, I know it's not much, but you're welcome to stay in one of the guest rooms out back. However, some of you will have to either stay out here or in your cars. There's a motel a few miles south which'll take a couple of you, I'm guessing. It's up to you lot to figure out what you're gonna do tonight. And as for arms, we got plenty of iron and salt here, but we're gonna need every weapon we can get. It's all hands on deck this time around."

With that, she was done. She nodded once at the lot of them then reached for her daughter's hand, the likes of which was trembling slightly. Jo didn't hunt yet. Ellen had never allowed her to. At the moment, she was far too young. She wouldn't be coming with them tomorrow, Puck thought as he watched Ellen lead her out the back, a sad look on the older woman's face. She was going to reassure Jo that she would do everything to return to her tomorrow, he realised, just like her father hadn't been able to do.

Puck was thinking about his _own_ father when he felt Sam's presence beside him. He turned and looked at the guy, his face set gravely.

The blonde man looked solemn. "Well, I guess that's that. You're coming tomorrow, right man?" Sam questioned, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. Puck saw the outline of the man's gun through his sweater. Of course,_ nobody_ had entered the Roadhouse unarmed. You just never knew when disaster would strike.

And struck it had.

"'Course," Puck told him, flashing him a smirk so that he would appear unafraid. Inside, Puck was panicking. He caught sight of the tiny woman, Rachel, standing in a small circle of hunters with Quinn. She was twisting her safety-locked handgun in her hands, her expression sombre. He couldn't help but mirror her emotions.

Tomorrow, he would be within two or so miles of his twin – the brother that he hadn't seen in over twelve months. The brother who had abandoned him for a better life.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This is my new multi-chapter fic. I like to have two of them going at once, I've noticed, and I've had this one stuck in the back of my mind for a very long time. I really, really enjoyed writing this and I know it's short but I wanted to get something out to you guys. It will, obviously, be set in the Supernatural universe. There will be an emphasis on Puck and his relationships with both Aaron and Rachel. I plan for it to be quite a bit longer and a lot darker than my previous fic, _Stupid Ambitions For A Witch, _which was set in the Harry Potter world. I will further develop characters and their histories as we go on, but I wanted to get the bowl rolling. This will be an action-packed, paranormal romance featuring my favourite pairing, Puckleberry. I will be using various characters from Glee, who will feature as hunters, humans, demons, angels... the list goes on. You can guess who's going to be what, but I'll keep that a secret for now. I'm so evil, right? Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this and will continue on reading it. I will try to update as much as I possibly can. I edit my own work so I'm sorry if I have left mistakes in there - I don't have a Beta, so it can't be helped! So, yeah, thank you and please review!

what the face


	2. Chapter 2

To live in hearts we leave behind  
>Is not to die.<br>_- Thomas Campbell, "Hallowed Ground"_

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><p>The hunters at the Roadhouse drank their worries away, waiting until the sun went down before they decided what they were going to do that night. Ellen and Jo had long since retired to out the back of the inn, a few of the older hunters that they were closer with taking the guest rooms that they offered. Most of the younger crowd were content to sleep in their vehicles or even just on the floor of the saloon.<p>

Sam, however, had somehow convinced Quinn into sharing a room with him at the motel Ellen had described, and was currently trying to get Puck and Rachel to join them.

"I think I'm just gonna stay in my car," Puck told him. He didn't really feel like socialising. The emotional baggage that he'd been carting around on top of his shoulders for the past year was becoming increasingly hard to hide efficiently. He wanted a break. He wanted to be able to worry in peace. But Sam, the annoyingly, overly _nice_ son of a bitch, was relentless.

"Come on," the blonde whined, slinging an arm around Quinn, who smiled up at him, her cheeks rosy. "It's one night. Might even be your last."

Puck eyed him with curiosity. "I thought that you didn't like talking like that."

"I don't," Sam shrugged. "I thought it'd appeal to _you_, man."

"Well, it doesn't." Puck set his glass of water down on the unmanned bar. He was trying to flush the beer out of his system. He wanted to be completely alert tomorrow. He couldn't let alcohol affect him in anyway what so ever. "'Sides, you've got your partner, right? What's his name-?"

He stopped abruptly when he noticed the change in Sam's expression. It was only for a split second that the man's grin drooped, his almost always wide eyes gliding to rest on the floor. Sam didn't have a partner anymore, he realised.

"Fine," he said quickly, trying to make up for his slip up. It wasn't often that he did these sorts of things for people – you know, did what _they _wanted for a change. But Sam was a nice guy, a good friend. "I'll come."

Sam's face lit up once more and Quinn, previously confused, laughed gleefully. "Awesome. I'll go get my car ready and stuff. You coming with, babe?" He asked the blonde woman next to him, who nodded and followed him out of the inn and to the makeshift parking lot.

Puck sighed. So much for being alone tonight.

He spied Rachel hovering by the nearby wall and walked over to her, wondering what she was doing. She didn't look up when he paused beside her. Instead, her eyes remained focused on the large wall of photos. He had never really paid attention to them before. He didn't like to remind himself of family.

The pictures ranged in colours and sizes. The largest was of Ellen and her deceased husband, Bill, on their wedding day. Puck just didn't understand the point in getting married when involved in hunting. Death was everywhere you went, at every twist and turn. It just didn't make sense to drag somebody down with you. And even though Bill had probably been a nice guy – he didn't know for sure, he'd never met him – that was what Puck had always thought that he had done; dragged Ellen and Jo down with him.

The other pictures were mostly of Jo when she was younger. Jo had been home-schooled, and as a result, had never had too many friends. There were photographs of her and various clientele – people that had almost raised her over the years. Jo, Ellen and Bill had had a large family - one that never stayed in the same place.

In amongst these photographs he recognised many hunters. There was that grumpy old Howard, who Ellen had told off earlier that day, and even a photo of Sam with Jo on his shoulders – back when she was about thirteen and he was barely nineteen.

"Is that your brother?"

Puck turned to look down at the small woman, his eyes widening. "Huh?"

She smiled shyly and pointed at a small photo close to her. Of course, she was right. It was hard not to be. The only real differences between the two were that Aaron was a little taller, was lacking Puck's 'hawk, and had brown eyes instead of hazel ones. Other than that, you couldn't tell the difference between them. Well, that was the case with appearances. With personalities, they couldn't be _more_ different.

The photograph that Rachel's finger currently rested on was of the two Puckerman boys, standing by the Impala with their father, Ezra, standing behind them. The man looked like an older, exhausted version of the two smiling children. Puck remembered taking that photo. They had been about ten, which made it almost fifteen years ago now. Ellen had lined them up out the front of Roadhouse and told them to _be quiet and just damn _smile_, would you?_ It had taken more than Ellen's stern words to get them to behave. In the photo, Puck's eyes were alight as he grinned mischievously at the camera, his two front teeth missing. Things had been a hell of a lot easier back then.

Quietly, unable to say anything, he nodded. Rachel turned to look at him quizzically, but he offered no further explanation so she decided to let it be. There was obviously some sort of darkness in this man's history, and she wasn't going to delve into it when didn't know him well enough.

Puck cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from the photograph and down at the woman before him. She wasn't smiling anymore. He noticed that she still held her gun in her hand, her fingers gliding across the cool metal almost methodically.

"Where are you staying tonight?" He asked her. It wasn't that he was interested in spending the night with her. Sure, she was nice-looking and all but she just wasn't his _type_. Puck's type was the kind of girl you could blow off in the morning. Rachel Berry wasn't like that.

"Wherever Quinn goes, I guess," she shrugged. Her eyes searched his face curiously. "What about you?"

"Sam forced me into joining him at the motel a few miles back. Quinn's staying with him-"

"Of _course_ she is," Rachel sighed. Then, she rolled her eyes. "Just tell your partner not to get his hopes up. Quinn's only up for short term relationships – and by short-term I mean less than twenty-four hours."

He didn't laugh, although that had been what Rachel was hoping for. Puck didn't often laugh. "He's not my partner. And I don't think _I'll _be the one telling him that. He's already fallen in love with her."

She ignored his last comment. "I thought that you two worked together."

"We did. I mean, a couple times. But it wasn't like permanent deal or anythin'."

She was about to ask him if he hunted with his brother but decided against it. For all she knew, his brother could be dead. Rachel knew all about death. On their last trip to visit Quinn's family in Florida they'd discovered that her parents and older sister had been killed by a Rugaru. Quinn hadn't been the same since. Her partner hadn't grown up hunting. In fact, she'd been introduced to it after Rachel's fathers had solved a case for her then alive and well family. A harmless ghost had been stuck in their house, unable to move on to the other side. Quinn had been instantly attracted to a life so full of guts and glory. At least, that was the way she had viewed things back then. They hadn't exactly liked one another at first. Still, Rachel had needed a hunting partner and Quinn had been available. She'd taught her everything she knew. Eventually, over time, they had become almost like sisters.

Quinn had stopped viewing hunting as a glorious profession after the deaths of her family. Hunting was a duty – something that she probably never would have involved herself in if she'd known what would come of it. You see, the Rugaru attack hadn't been a random occurrence. Rachel and Quinn had been hunting the damn creature all across Florida. They weren't stupid, no matter how much other hunters disagreed with them on that point. The creature had particularly like Quinn's scent. He'd followed it, finding her family home and killing everyone inside of it.

They had arrived only a few hours too late. Still, it had been around the town. Quinn shot it. It was fitting, really, Rachel had thought at the time. Revenge wasn't exactly sweet. It was bitter and she liked to think that she wouldn't let it consume her if she ever did experience the loss of a loved one through such horrible circumstances. But it was what Quinn had needed at the time.

"Oh," she found herself saying. She pushed the images of the thick, red, blood soaked through Mrs. Fabray's prized mink rug, of the family terrier's half mauled body, its eyes still wide open and staring as it lay, dead, on the kitchen tiles, out of her mind. She didn't like to remember Charlie Fabray's still manicured hand, severed from the remaining parts of her body, the tendons ripped and snapped bones visible, still barely hanging from her mutilated wrist. "Well, we should get going then, shouldn't we?"

Puck watched as she made for the inn's exit, her eyes suddenly glassy and distant. He wondered what that was all about, although he wasn't going to ask. She was entitled to her privacy, just as he was to his own.

The night was not cold, as he had expected it to be. Instead, he found that the warmth of the wind soothed and calmed him. He had wanted to spend the night alone in his car, to ponder what he would do if he were to see his brother the following day. But perhaps, he thought, it would not be so wise to spend the night alone. Sam was right. Even though he knew that he was a good hunter, he also knew that there was a high possibility that he wouldn't be around this time tomorrow night. He would suck it up and be sociable while he still could.

They decided to travel in Sam's pickup, effectively minimising the cost of petrol. Whilst it _killed _Puck to leave his baby behind, he knew that nothing would harm the Impala. The hunters at the Roadhouse understood its significance – that it had been the only constant in his otherwise unpredictable and shaky life. The Impala had stuck with him through thick and thin.

Sam's truck was old, lined with dust and rusted with years spent in harsh weather conditions. They piled into the ancient fossil, Quinn and Sam in the front and Rachel and Puck seated in the back seat - which was littered with junk food wrappers and cut out newspaper articles. Puck couldn't help but notice Rachel's apparent disgust at the conditions the blonde man lived in. She daintily moved any rubbish away from her and, ultimately, toward him, looking at him apologetically. He didn't mind. He'd been in Sam's vehicle before. It certainly took some getting used to.

The drive to the motel wasn't long. It took only twenty or so minutes. During that time, Quinn and Sam made goo-goo eyes at one another and the two hunters in the back seat chatted civilly. Rachel learnt that Puck hadn't finished high school, and that she had moved around a lot as a teenage girl. Her fathers had taught her everything that she knew about hunting, which she had then, in turn, passed on to Quinn - who she had met just over three years ago.

Eventually, they piled out of the pick-up truck and gathered inside the motel. The place was cheap and probably infested with rodents, but they were used to such circumstances. Sam spoke to the woman at the front counter, who told him that they only had two rooms available that night. They each handed over their fake identification and watched with disinterest as Sam placed the money that he had hustled from pool that night onto the counter. It was enough to pay for both rooms that night.

When that was taken care of, they gathered their small amount of belongings and trudged up the creaky stairs, down the waning corridor and toward the two identical rooms across the hall from one another. Once there, Sam and Quinn began to give subtle hints that they wanted to share a room. Rachel wasn't exactly ecstatic about sharing quarters with the man she had just met, but Puck didn't seem to want to try anything on her. She'd deal with him for the night. It would be fine.

And it turned out that it was. Puck wasn't much of a conversationalist, as she had previously pointed out, and although he made more than a few semi-sexual remarks about her choice of pyjamas, he was very respectful of her. They were in bed by nine thirty. Well, Puck was. Rachel was in bed, indeed, but that didn't necessarily mean she was _sleeping._ Puck's incredibly loud snoring prevented _that._

In the morning, they awoke quickly and dressed and clean themselves. They joined forces in knocking once, twice, then three times on the room across the hall, shared by the two blondes that had accompanied them to the motel. Then, when that didn't work, they used their deviant capabilities to gain access to the suite. In other words, Puck picked the lock whilst Rachel made sure that no one saw him do so.

They found Sam and Quinn sound asleep in each other's arms, their clothes still on and their hair mussed. Quinn hadn't bothered to remove her makeup, yet she still looked angelic with her flawless, pale features. Rachel wouldn't admit it out loud, but she had always been jealous of her hunting partner. She was beautiful in every way that Rachel thought she, herself, wasn't.

Puck had thought the sleepy look on Sam's face to be rather hilarious. He laughed loudly, startling Rachel, who was looking on at the pair, a dazed look on her face. "What's so funny?" She snapped immediately, an accusing look on her face.

Puck turned to look at the small woman next to him. He'd noticed overnight that she was sort of… _high maintenance. _He was glad that he hadn't given her any ideas. "Sam's face," he replied, smirking, "Look's funny."

She regarded him curiously. Then, deciding that they had better be going, she took matters into her own hands. She grabbed the nearest cushion, which sat on the beaten-up old couch in front of the small, dodgy black and white television, and threw it at Quinn's head. The blonde woman stirred when it hit her lightly, a crease developing on her forehead as her eyebrows drew together in annoyance. Her eyes opened slowly, the light disorientating her. "Rachel?" She asked groggily, "Is that you?"

"No. It's the abominable snowman," Rachel snapped pleasantly, and Puck of all people had to commend her for her quick wit, "Of _course_ it's me, Quinn. Now come on, it's time to go."

Knowing that her partner would listen to her – she always did – Rachel made for the door that led out towards the hallway once more. When she realised that Puck hadn't followed her – he was chuckling as Quinn tried to shake Sam awake, her frustration growing by the minute – she stomped over to him and grabbed him by the collar. It was quite a feat for a midget, he concluded, dazed, as he allowed himself to be dragged out of the room by the pint-sized dose of _crazy._

They were in Sam's truck by eight thirty and at the Roadhouse by nine o'clock. They split up then; Sam went to help Puck check that his beloved Impala was still in tact. Indeed, it was. They unloaded Puck's large collection of hunting supplies and deposited them on to the table inside the saloon, where Ellen checked over everything to make sure it was up to scratch as they couldn't risk handing out dodgy weaponry.

Rachel and Quinn did the same.

Eventually, Ellen called them all together and sorted them into groups according to their own specialties. Since the four hunters were relatively inexperienced in hunting demons, Ellen ended up placing them in a group with the grumpy hunter, Howard. Puck groaned when the matron told him that; 'That's just the way it is, Puckerman. So don't go cryin' to your mama about it." He knew that Howard was a sorry old bastard who – yeah, no doubt, had experience – but was still stuck in the dark ages. He was a know-it-all, too.

They were to enter to building from the back. Puck hadn't known this, but apparently Rachel was quite a well-renowned hunter – known especially for her work exorcising unwanted ghosts. Still, hunting ghosts wasn't anything like hunting _demons_. Their goal in the mission was to obtain information. Puck sincerely hoped that he didn't have to read anything.

This time, after Ellen had bid them all good luck and they had gathered what weapons they needed – salt, holy water and various other helpful substances to help kick some demon _ass – _they set off in Sam's truck once more. Hell, they didn't want to be in there, but Sam had insisted, even after Rachel had told him that she'd seen a rat in there the night before. Puck hadn't laughed - that shit was nasty.

His mind was elsewhere – with Aaron in Lima. He didn't like the idea of being near him again. He'd avoided any cases in the town for exactly that reason. He just _couldn't_ see him again. Although he knew that the chance of doing so was very slim, he knew it was a possibility. He tried to distract himself with those around him.

He watched Rachel as she triple-checked – or was it the fourth time she had checked? – her weaponry. She was wearing black skinny jeans paired with a tightly-fitting grey t-shirt. Her pistol was in a holster around her waist. He watched, slightly transfixed, as she polished her intricate, serrated blade with a dust-covered cloth. He raised an eyebrow at her. "What, exactly, do you think _a knife_ is gonna do against a _demon?"_

Rachel looked up at him, surprised that he'd been paying attention to her. The three others in the car had mostly ignored him for the past hour – the drive to Lima was about an hour and a half away – because he had appeared so sullen. "Have faith," she said simply and returned to her work.

He shrugged.

Meanwhile, Quinn had turned around to look out of the back window. She peered through the glass to stare out towards the winding road that they were leaving behind. There was a sole pickup truck, older even that Sam's, tailing them.

"Do you think he's going to help… or _hinder _us?" She asked, genuinely curious. Puck turned to follow her gaze, his eyes landing on Howard, the man who was to help them fight any demons trying to interfere with their search for information as the other twenty or so hunters stormed the abandoned warehouse from the front, hopefully eliminating all threats. He realised that the Howard could see them gawking at him when the grump old man flipped him the bird.

"Definitely hinder," Puck growled.

"I just don't see why he refused to drive with us," Rachel was saying. She hadn't stopped polishing the blade in her hands. Puck noticed that its hilt seemed to be made of reindeer antler and that there was an inscription carved on the blade. "It really was the better option. Having two cars pull up near the warehouse might bring even more unwanted attention to us, ultimately resulting in failure. If the demons notice us first, we're, well, w-we're…"

"Fucked," the man with the Mohawk finished for her.

Rachel only frowned at him. "Well, essentially, yes…"

"I agree," Quinn said coolly. "We're going to have to maintain the element of surprise."

"I'm just gonna kick butt," Sam told them cockily. His hands were clutching the steering wheel as tightly as possible, his knuckles almost white. They shook slightly. Puck knew, without him having to say anything, that the cockiness was just a front that Sam put on to impress Quinn. He was just as scared as the rest of them. "The spawn of Satan won't know what him 'em-"

_Slam._ A masculine cry. Glass shattering.

Puck turned, his reflexes fast, to catch a last glimpse of his friend before he was torn from the car, right through the window. Tiny shards of razor sharp glass hurtled through the air, narrowly missing them for the most part. Quinn screamed loudly as the car span out of control.

The sound of Sam's distressed yell filled the night air around them. The panicked blonde woman hastily stretched her arms out to steady the spinning truck – but it was too late. The damned machine was going to fast, and her seatbelt seemed to have jammed. Rachel's heart was hammering in her chest as she raised her knife, bracing herself for another attack.

Puck's hand automatically reached for the '45 resting on his lap. He readied it and unbuckled his seat belt. "Quinn!" He yelled, his commanding nature taking over. He was struggling to remain upright. The car tyres screeched loudly as the blonde tried desperately to gain control over the spinning vehicle. Rachel and Puck tried to remain calm. Sam's screaming could no longer be heard. They were hurtling down the road, out of control.

"I can't reach the brakes!" Quinn cried, frustrated. Tears of shock were running down her face. They just hadn't expected it. They had been so certain that they'd had at least another half an hour left. How could that have been taken away from them? It just wasn't fair.

Puck swore and scrambled forwards, pulling a knife from his belt as he did so. Rachel quickly pulled her knife away from his body, which was now leaning over hers to try and get at Quinn's blasted seatbelt. "Hold still," he growled as Quinn's sobs racked her body. "I'll cut you out. Hang on-"

Quinn's piercing screech filled their ears as the car abruptly turned and Puck's knife slipped, slicing a large gash in her lower arm. He swore again as it fell from his hand, clattering to the floor beside her feet.

"What did you do?' Rachel shrieked at him, her emotions finally getting the better of her. She shoved him off of her and tried to attend to her long-term hunting partner, who was now trying desperately to stop the blood from spilling forth out of the large cut on her arm.

"R-Rachel?" Quinn whispered. Her eyes were wide, haunted with memories of her past, of finding her family torn to pieces by the creatures that she hunted. As the car began to spin faster, Rachel clawed onto the passenger's seat, which Quinn was now slumped in.

"It's me," she told her. "We're going to be fine. It's only a little cut. You've had worse. We'll be fine-"

There was another loud thud as Sam's attacker launched themself at the car once more. Quinn cried out as Rachel stared at her, helpless. Puck yelled and raised his firearm before taking a wild shot at it. Unfortunately, it was gone again before the bullet even left the gun.

"Rachel!" Puck shouted as the assailant landed on the roof, causing Quinn to shriek once more.

"Don't let them eat me, too," the blonde was sobbing irrationally, clutching desperately at Rachel's hands. The brunette didn't look up, her own eyes now wet with tears. She knew that she was imagining the Rugaru that had killed everyone she had loved. In her current state of shock she couldn't distinguish the past from the present. "Please," she whimpered.

Puck, meanwhile, was attempting to climb through the window. The upper half of his body was hanging out of the spinning vehicle when he felt very human hands grab him roughly by the neck. He managed to shake the aggressor off of him and take a few wild shots in the dark in the direction he assumed it had fallen.

"Rachel!" He yelled once more. This time, he caught the brunette's attention. "Take the fucking wheel!"

Finally, pushing any emotions out of her current thought process, she pried her hands away from Quinn's and tried to hoist herself over into the driver's seat. It was a tough ask and she struggled to get her leg over the glove box. In the mean time, Puck had clambered safely back into the car.

Rachel's hands slipped as she clutched at the wheel. Quinn was a sobbing mess on the seat next to her, cradling her bleeding arm and whispering to herself. Puck wondered what the fuck was going on. Just as her hands regained control of the steering wheel, the cars began hurtling forwards. Puck screamed a few obscenities as the person attacking them latched themselves onto the window once more. He paused involuntarily for a moment, searching their face. It was a woman; her skin dark and her hair in long, dark curls. Her eyes were completely black. He took a shot at her.

Rachel slammed her foot against the brake, but it was far too late. They were rolling downhill at great speed, the car having ceased its spinning. Her ears were wringing as she pushed down on the dodgy brake system. Puck was yelling something at her but she couldn't hear him over the roar of the tyres underneath them. They were flying over rocks and debris, the car thumping up and down as it hit each piece. Puck caught one last glimpse of the woman hanging onto the side of the pickup. She looked forwards, toward the direction in which the car was headed. Then, turning back to look at him through the window, she grinned sadistically before disappearing completely.

"I can't-" Rachel was screaming at him. He was yelling at her too, telling her to stop the car. But he knew that her attempts were futile. They were gaining speed, hurtling towards an inevitable death. Quinn was tossing and turning, her hands covering her eyes as she sobbed, her tears wracking her entire frame. Rachel stared, wide-eyed as a tree seemed the rise up out of nowhere.

"P-Puck!" She shrieked. His hand found hers as they crashed into the foreboding force of nature, their whole bodies slamming against the nearest solid object as they were rendered unconscious.

* * *

><p>There was a ringing in her ears paired with a warm wetness spilling forth from her forehead. Rachel raised a hand to groggily stroke her own skin. It didn't <em>feel<em> like skin. It felt like the remains of what had once been skin. What had happened? Where was she?

Suddenly, the memories of the attack came flooding back to her. Sam being wrenched from the truck, the truck spinning out of control as Quinn scrambled to save them, Puck trying to help her when she was stuck, unable to move, in her chair, and accidentally injuring her when he did so. She recalled Quinn's hysterical screaming, then thought of the day they had discovered the Rugaru attack at the Fabray's home. She could practically _hear _Puck helplessly firing his gun at their attacker, who had latched onto the truck as it had hurtled onwards, unable to be stopped. She remembered Puck's hand finding hers, somehow, in the darkness, and how warm and almost content she had felt for that split second, that _quick_ moment before-

She let out a low moan. _Quinn. _She forced herself to take in her surroundings, even though it was agony to even move a muscle. Her _eyes _were tired. Still, her desire to find her closest and only friend alive overpowered any pain she felt in her body. She tried to call her name even though at first it didn't sound like her name at all. Her throat was scratchy and she could taste blood in her mouth. "Quinn?" She tried again. Her voice was haggard. She didn't care. She wanted to see her friend.

"Quinn?"

The pickup was still upright. The front window shield had shattered completely, and Rachel brushed pieces of glass out of her hair. Her bare arms and face were cut up, her neck bruised and her hands grazed. Still, these injuries were nothing compared to that certain something she felt deep within.

Grief.

"Quinn?"

Her chair had remained virtually untouched by the accident. She forced herself to sit up right and turn her head to face her left. This caused an animalistic sound to burst forth from deep within as a spasm of pain rocked her body. It was white hot and it stung like nothing she had ever felt before. She cringed as she held back the tears that were beginning to form. She felt her nails digging into the palms of her scraped hands and her front teeth digging into her bottom lip, almost drawing blood.

Then, that was forgotten.

"R-Rach…?"

Rachel turned immediately, ignoring the swell of pain rising in her muscles. She opened her eyes and stared, horrified at what she saw.

She now understood why the driver's side had remained almost completely untouched. The truck had struck the tree on the left side, directly down the side that Quinn and Puck had been on. A wail got stuck in her throat as she took in Quinn's current state. The blonde woman was almost completely covered in blood - the vile, red, liquid spilling forth from her mouth as she coughed. Her whole body was bruised and battered and her leg was twisted at an odd angle. Rachel raised her fist to her mouth to stop herself from making a sound.

"Ra-" Suddenly, Quinn retched on the passenger's seat. Her body shook as she vomited bile and blood. Quinn had skipped breakfast that morning to impress Sam. Rachel realised that these details meant nothing _now_, but somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew that Sam wouldn't have cared if Quinn had scarfed down the whole motel. He was head over heels for her, as Puck had said.

_Puck. _No. He was probably dead, she told herself. She shouldn't try to worry about too many things at once. She would deal with Quinn. She would try to save her.

Quinn ceased vomiting. A little bile was still on her chin, something that Quinn would have been disgusted by if she had not been in her current state. She raised her eyes to stare at Rachel, who was trembling slightly as she stared at the blonde's injuries.

"W-what are you looking at?" Quinn asked her.

Rachel couldn't hold the tears back anymore. As they spilled over her eyelashes and onto her cheeks, she only shook her head. Quinn coughed again, her body shaking as she spit blood onto Sam's dodgy upholstery.

"Look after _her_ for me."

The brunette blinked away her tears and stared into the eyes of her hunting partner. She wasn't a silly woman. She knew that this would have to come to pass eventually. She never really thought that it would be so soon, though. It was easier to speculate about than to actually face.

She nodded, her eyes rimming with water. Quinn's were dry and red, her face pale. "She'll need somebody to tell her what happened to me," she told Rachel, who was now sobbing silently. "Please."

Rachel reached out for her and clasped her hand in hers. The blonde's hands were shaking, frail and weak, covered in bile and blood. But Rachel didn't care.

"I-I… promise."

That was all Quinn really needed. She leant back and shut her eyes, her fingers gently tracing patterns on Rachel's palm. "I'm sorry we fought all the time," she told her. Rachel, at this point, was struggling to understand was Quinn was saying in-between all of the coughing and the gurgling.

"We didn't," Rachel insisted, her bottom lip trembling. "Only at the s-start."

Quinn didn't reply. Instead, she managed one last smile. That was enough for Rachel. Their friendship hadn't exactly been conventional, especially considering what they did for a career, but it had been a wonderful one. They'd been there for one another through thick and thin. This, Rachel decided, would be their last adventure.

"I'm going to see my family again," was the last thing Quinn ever said.

* * *

><p>The man was dressed in a black business suit, the collar of his dark blue dress shirt stiff, and his dark hair gelled sleekly. His thick, sympathetic brow was creased only slightly as he stared at the mess before him. From inside the totalled pickup truck, he could hear sobbing and wailing. The loss of a friend, he noted, was especially devastating.<p>

"Barbiel."

He turned toward the sound of his approaching brother, Uriel. He did not smile, for this moment was not a time for smiling – however, he did show respect by simply nodding in recognition.

"You do not understand why I am here, brother," Uriel told him.

The man was confused. He turned, unsure, to stare at the angel with whom he usually worked closely.

"You are correct in saying that," the man noted, a crease in his brow. His brown eyes searched the older angel's own wise orbs. "Why _are _you here, Uriel? Michael sent me here alone."

Uriel smirked. "I am merely making sure that you don't stray from your assignment-" he muttered, his eyes alight, "- like you did the last time."

The man was overwhelmed with memories; of days spent at the beach, the water soft and gentle as it lapped at his bare ankles, the breeze rifling his then light hair. Of course, he had been in a different body all those years ago. He recalled the feeling of lips tracing his collar bone, of a hand held in his, a soul mate that he swore he would die for. He hastily pushed these images out of his mind. They were no more. His soul mate was no more.

"I won't," he replied calmly, although on the inside he was not calm at all.

Uriel regarded him curiously, almost as if he could see into the younger angel's innermost thoughts and feelings. It was possible, the man thought, but impolite. They didn't often feel the need to do so. Still, Uriel wasn't like other angels. He was sinister, calculating. No body wanted to cross him.

"What are you waiting for?" Uriel asked him, raising his eyebrows. The man nodded without emotion and began to walk towards the smoking wreckage.

He had a lot to prove to his superiors, he thought sullenly as he neared the still-upright pickup truck. And he would prove to them that he would not rebel again. He was an angel of his word, regardless of the lies he had told all those years ago. He had experienced love and he had been punished rightly for it. He would not disobey his God again.

* * *

><p>Rachel had moved to curl up against Quinn's side, her hands now slicked with blood and bile. She had shut her eyes and willed this to all be a dream. Where were Ellen and the others? Were they safe? Or had they all been killed, too?<p>

She thought of Quinn's last wish. She would do it. As soon as she found the strength to move again, she would do it. She had promised her.

Puck.

He had not made a sound in the last twenty or so minutes that she had been awake. Was he dead, too? Like Quinn? Like Sam? Gone… _forever_? The thought made her feel hollow inside.

Her sensitive, trained ears picked up the sound of a twig snapping just outside the car. Immediately, her hand went to rest on the blade that was sheathed in her belt. She hastily removed it and quietly sat up, making her way over to the driver's side of Sam's truck and flinging the door open. She saw a young man dressed in business attire, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched her move toward him, limping as she tried to run.

She set out to kill him, the magical knife raised in her trembling hand as she made to stab him with it. She wanted him to die. He was a demon. _Demon_. A creature unnatural and wrong and filled with hate.

It was a good attempt, something that would have done away with any other creature, but _he_ was too fast. _He_ merely had to move out of the way when she ran towards him. Injured, she stumbled slightly, but she was a trained killer, a _hunter, _and she was after him again within seconds.

He clicked his fingers.

The knife clattered to the floor and she was frozen, completely unable to move any of her limbs. She screamed in frustration and the man swore that he could hear Uriel laughing in the distance. Despicable, he thought, to laugh at such a thing. The young woman before him had just lost three of her friends in the space of an hour.

She spat at his feet.

"You are _vile," _she hissed, her eyes filling with tears once more, "Disgusting, unnatural and I'm going to _kill_ you!"

He was not alarmed at her outburst. Her face was red with rage, her fists shaking as she tried to fight off his power. It could not be done, he thought almost regretfully. He was more powerful than anything she had ever encountered before.

"I am not what you think I am-"

"A demon! An evil, twisted, sad sack of _shit _is what you are!"

His facial expression did not alter. "I am Barbiel, an angel of the Lord."

Her eyes shone with hatred. "How _dare _you? You have no right to claim to be such a thing, my God would _never_-"

"You are Rachel Barbra Berry," he began. "You dream to be an actress, yet you are stuck doing something you hate because you don't want to let your parents down. When you were eight years old, you prayed that an angel would come and take you away from the life that you had always known, into a family that didn't know about the evil that you dealt with everyday, into a family who's biggest problems were how they were going to afford the bills the next month, a family where you were just a _child."_

There was a long silence as she stared at him.

"How did you know that?" She snapped eventually, her chest rising and falling with her rapid intakes and outtakes of breath. The man before her had just described to her something that she had never told anyone – not even her fathers, who she loved more than anyone in the entire _world_, regardless of the values and beliefs they had thrust onto her – that hunting was a God-given responsibility, a servitude that she must complete without question, a duty that was always for the greater good.

"I listened. And, eventually, even if it was a decade later, I answered your prayer."

There were tears dripping down her cheeks as her expression changed. "The Julliard scholarship."

He nodded.

When she was eighteen, she'd received, without warning, a full scholarship for her freshman year at Julliard in New York City. The letter had come as a complete surprise, and whilst it was a dream come true, it was also a painful reminder that whilst she wanted it more than _anything _in the world, she couldn't have it without risking the relationship she had with her parents.

"I was too afraid to show it to my fathers, but I never thought I'd been so lucky in my life…" She whispered, her eyes shining. "Thank you…"

He nodded once more. Staring at him, dumbfounded, she opened her mouth to speak. "What should I call you?"

He looked into the soul of his vessel. "Blaine," he said, surprising himself as he said it aloud. It was so close to the last name he had lived by on Earth. _Benjamin._

"Blaine," Rachel repeated slowly.

He disregarded her. "If I release you, will you try to kill me?"

She seemed to be struggling internally. Finally, she shook her head. "No."

With that, he let her go. She scrambled to retrieve her precious knife before looking up to see that the… _angel_ had walked away, back towards the wreckage. He was climbing in through the back door, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Wait!" She called, hurrying after him, "What are you doing?"

"What I am here to do."

She stared, transfixed, as he settled on the back seat. For the first time, her eyes came to rest on Puck, who was nearly as battered and bruised as Quinn had been. Rachel started to cry again as she thought about her friend, who now lay dead in the front seat of the partially destroyed vehicle.

"Dead, as I suspected," Blaine spoke, seemingly to himself. She wasn't really listening to him. Instead, her gaze was focused on what he was _doing._ "It doesn't matter."

He let the palm of his hand rest gently on Puck's beat up forehead. Then he shut his eyes. Astounded, Rachel couldn't believe her eyes when she saw a white light emanating from the man's hands. She gasped when Puck's eyes started blinking rapidly, life flowing back into his body as Blaine poured his heart and soul into his work.

"What are you doing?" She snapped, although she already knew what was happening. Puck, before her very own eyes, was being resurrected.

Blaine didn't answer her. He shut his eyes as tight as he could before he released the last of his power, the man below him spluttering slightly as air filled his lungs once more.

He removed his hand from his forehead and scooted out of the battered truck. "I am done here," he stated simply, which seemed to infuriate Rachel, who stood, unrelenting, in front of him – blocking his way. Of course, this wasn't a problem, but she didn't exactly know that yet.

"No, you're not!" She exclaimed. "Help Quinn. Please."

For a moment, Blaine understood. Then, forcing himself to remember _why _he'd been imprisoned for the last century, he brushed her off, an emotionless expression on his face. "She is not important to us," he told the small hunter. The words seemed heartless, even for an angel. "There is nothing I can do."

Rachel was livid. "There's nothing you can do? You can save her, you _asshole! _Why is his life of more value than anyone else's?" She yelled.

Blaine tried to ignore her. "It is God's plan."

"God's plan my _ass_," she spat, enraged, "If this is what God believes in, then I finally understand why people see religion as so corrupt!"

He wanted to feel nothing. But, unlike any other angel he had ever known, he was unable to disappear into an emotionless existence. "I am sorry," he said honestly, and with that he disappeared.

Rachel dropped to her knees and cried. She cried for what seemed like hours, _days _even. Quinn was gone. Angels were real. Puck was alive… but he had been dead.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

"Hello?"

She ran to him, and although they had only known one another two days, to see him alive again was to be inexplicably happy for at least a minute. He appeared unharmed, almost entirely healthy save for extreme exhaustion. He could barely keep his eyes open.

"Rach?"

She bent down to gently stoke his ridiculous Mohawk. It was comforting for the both of them. She refused to look at Quinn's still body, laying not a metre away. "Yes?'

"I'm… alive."

"_Yes_. Yes, you're alive."

Puck blinked; once, twice, then three times. A face flashed before his eyes, a distant memory - the brother he had refused to admit that he had missed. "Aaron," he told her.

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Aaron. My brother. Take me to Aaron."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Just to be clear, this story will focus on the relationships between Noah, Aaron and Rachel, as well as between supporting characters such as Blaine (Barbiel), Sam, and Quinn. There are many more characters to be introduced but I don't want to mention them here, as I want them to come as a surprise to you. Please, please, please review this chapter with feedback!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

"And unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him, and cried."

- _Mark, 3:11_

* * *

><p>The first time they had met was a distant memory for Barbiel. Their soul had shined brighter than any he'd ever seen before. A normal human soul was a blank slate, bursting with colours when their emotions shone through. Some souls were black, twisted and filled with the dull tones of grief and despair. These were the souls that angels most often dealt with – the souls of those who fought evil, who <em>were <em>evil. Although these souls opposed one another, they were so similar, so _alike_, that they may as well have been fighting for the same purpose.

_Their _soul was bright blue. Dazzling, like a summer ocean, cresting with gentle waves, falling softly onto golden sand. Their name, that first meeting, was irrelevant. Their relationship changed every time they met. The first time, they'd been friends. The second, his soul mate had appeared as a young boy, a soul in need of parental love and care. Then, Barbiel had acted as an older sibling. Time and time again, Barbiel had been what the soul had needed – a father, a brother, a friend. He had used many names; Baird, Baldwin, Belinda, Bailey. His appearance had changed as he'd shed each vessel. For centuries, their companionship had continued almost innocently. But Barbiel knew that he couldn't go on this way. This soul, it _consumed _him. He wandered Earth searching for it, looking for its beauty.

After two centuries, they met for the final time in London. The year was 1940, and fear was thick in the air. It clouded Barbiel's senses. Almost every soul was black, twisted and aching with grief. Then, one day, walking through the streets of the city, he felt its presence. This time, they were a young woman, barely nineteen, slender and slight, vulnerable but with strength behind those blue eyes that he'd come to know so well. Those eyes always remained the same; a portal that enabled mortals to see her soul.

As it always happened, their eyes met. Of course, she didn't remember him, not like he remembered her. But there was always a spark of recognition, something that propelled her forward, forced her to smile at the tall blonde stranger wearing a neat suit. His face was cleanly shaven and his green eyes were friendly. She knew those eyes, yet she didn't know where from. Spurred on by his handsome features and kind exterior, Katherine greeted him and learnt that his name was Benjamin.

There was something otherworldly about him, thought it didn't frighten her. It was early 1940 and there were plenty of other things that should terrify her. However, she found that the events of the war were far from her mind when she was around her darling Benjamin, who treated her to simple, sweet dates at the beach, the ice cream parlour, and various other locations. It was the theatre that she loved the most, however, and he was sure to take her to a show every fortnight. How he could afford it, she did not know, but she didn't question what he did for her. She only loved him and he loved her in return.

Meanwhile, things weren't so simple for Barbiel. Unlike his soul mate, he understood the repercussions of their actions. Angels were not meant to fall in love with humans. If he dared to make love to her – and he wanted to so badly – he would be cast down from heaven and they would surely meet fast ends. His brothers warned him to stay away, and he tried, he really did, but her doe eyes and pureness of heart guided him to betray his Father and Heaven. He proposed to her just three months after their first meeting, and they lay together the night of their wedding. For five months they lived together happily. Barbiel continued to ignore the countless warnings that the other angels gave him.

Katherine wanted a baby so dearly. She prayed every night for his child to grow inside of her. Barbiel knew that her praying was useless; his Father would not listen to her.

The Blitz on London commenced a month later. Feeling that it was the right thing to do, Katherine volunteered for the Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps. She was sent to the Western Front, much to Barbiel's discomfort. He followed her there, watched over her without the comfort of his vessel. He watched as countless soldiers lost their lives, for the first time questioning why his Father didn't put a stop to this mass murdering.

His brothers felt his faith fading over time as he watched from his perch in Heaven.

Katherine saw things that changed her sparkling soul from glistening blue to deep black, wretched and vile. She became a new person, twisted by the fear and hopelessness surrounding her. On the eleventh of August, 1941, the hospice that Katherine was stationed at was stormed by German troops. She died along with the three other Nurses who were unfortunate enough to be there.

The death of his soul mate had been something that Barbiel had witnessed many times before. But to know that, this time, it had been the work of his brothers pushed him over the edge. His faith shattered, he had renounced his loyalty to God and was cast down from Heaven. He had lived as one of the Fallen for forty years, forever moving to keep his unchanging appearance unsuspicious. When the war ended and the world rejoiced, he travelled to the United States of America.

He was in Philadelphia in 1986 when he saw his soul mate once more. This time, the soul appeared as a middle-aged man. The man sat out the front of a swamped hospital, his body covered in purple sores, his limbs frail and his head covered in a moth-eaten beanie, shivering when his bare skin was brushed by the gentle wind. His soul was pure once more, although he was plagued by a new disease, a disease that humans were calling AIDs.

Barbiel knew, then, that his actions had affected his soul mate's existence. He quickly left before the soul could see him. He prayed for his brothers to come to him and to hear him out. After many days and many nights, they did. Eventually, they forgave him. He would have one more chance to prove his faith to the Lord.

He knew, now, that his purpose in life was not to love – but to serve God. He had been foolish, selfish in his previous actions. He had given up his vessel – and the name Benjamin, a name that he had clung to so helplessly – and returned home. He watched his soul mate perish once more, revered by society for loving someone of his own gender. It was ironic, Barbiel thought, that he himself was an angel who did not discriminate in this way. He realised that he would love that soul no matter what body it appeared in.

And then he pushed that thought from his mind forever.

He had heard it again, though, when the human named Rachel had begged for him to resurrect her friend. Rachel was irrelevant to the grand spectrum of things. If she had died, he would not have resurrected her either. It was only the man. _He_ was important.

But, really, wasn't every life important?

* * *

><p>Puck hated hospital food. He hated annoying, pushy nurses who tried to get his phone number at every damn opportunity. He hated doctors who poked and prodded him when he was obviously in pain. But most of all, he hated that he was perfectly fine whilst the rest of the hunters from the Roadhouse were most likely injured or worse… dead.<p>

_And _he was alone.

Rachel had offered to stay, but of course he'd wanted her to leave. She wasn't exactly holding it together too well. He could see beyond her dry, red eyes and rigid posture. Those eyes were aching to cry and those shoulders just wanted to slump.

Howard had left hours ago. It had been him who had found them at the side of the road, Sam's truck bent around a large tree, smoke rising from the crumpled bonnet. Apparently the bastard had also been attacked. Still, he and his truck had escaped the worst of it. He'd been left with a sprained wrist and a dented back door. He drove them to the Lima General Hospital and went on to locate the rest of the hunting party.

They hadn't heard anything from Sam yet.

He's probably dead, Puck told himself. He didn't bother to deny this, as Sam would have denied Puck's demise if their positions had been reversed. They were too different.

Puck didn't know what he would do if Sam was dead. Would he cry as Rachel had cried when they'd had no choice but to leave Quinn's body behind in in the truck? Or would he remain silent and stoic as his father had always done in these sorts of situations? He would probably do the latter. Puck wasn't new to the idea of death. He was_ far_ from new to it.

"Mr Puckerman?"

He lifted his throbbing head to stare, annoyed, at the middle-aged nurse standing in the doorway. He'd somehow acquired his own room – he perceived this to be of Rachel's doing – even though he only appeared to have a concussion. They wanted to keep him in overnight just to make sure that everything was functioning normally.

"Yeah?" He grunted, scratching his 'hawk. At least this nurse wasn't trying to hit on him. She most likely had a husband and kids back home.

"You have a visitor. Would you like to see them?"

Puzzled, Puck raised his eyebrows and dropped his hand. "Who is it?"

The nurse looked down at the clipboard in her hand. Puck noted for the first time that her eyes were rather glassy. He was suddenly anxious. "I… I'm really sorry, Mr Puckerman, excuse my unprofessionalism… but I'm not exactly sure." Her reflective eyes stared into his own. She seemed lost, unsure of what she was doing all of a sudden.

His fingers flexed under his white bed sheets, looking for a weapon that he didn't have. They'd had to leave all of their weaponry in Howard's car as to not cause suspicion when they'd entered the E.R. "Why don't you go and ask them again?" He suggested, his eyes surveying the room for possible exits. As soon as she was gone, he would leave. He'd contact Ellen as soon as possible and he'd get the _fuck_ out of dodge.

The nurse smiled slowly, although it didn't reach her eyes. "Y-yes. I will-"

"That won't be necessary."

Puck leapt out of his bed as a short man in a business suit entered the room and placed his hand against the nurse's forehead. Her eyes flickered shut as her shoulders slumped and she fell to the floor. The man, without even blinking, went to shut the door behind him. Puck was out of the bed in seconds, wearing only a hospital gown and feeling rather ridiculous as he flung his arm back and his muscles tensed.

His fist connected with the man's chiselled features. There was no familiar crunch, however, as it did so. The man did not falter. Instead, he simply chuckled before dodging Puck's next blow. Puck struggled to fight the man – no, the _demon. _

Suddenly, just as he was about to deliver another strong punch to the stomach, the man finally made his move. His hands connected with Puck's shoulders as he pushed him backwards, sending him flying into the metal structure of the hospital bed. Puck's neck snapped backwards and his head connected with the hard metal, sending white-hot pain all over his tired body.

"Stop," the man instructed him. _Fuck no, _Puck thought, struggling to stand up once again as his head spun. Instead, he found that he couldn't move. "It will do you no good use to fight me."

Puck wouldn't give up. He tried to move his arms with all of his might, no matter how useless it was. His vision was blurry and for the first time he thought that it had probably been a good idea to take him to the hospital.

"It's just a concussion," the man told him as he knelt before him, his hands clasped in his lap. "I can fix it if you promise not to attack me again."

"Touch me and die," Puck snarled through his teeth.

The man in the suit sighed and dragged a hand over his face. Finally, after a moments silence, he opened his mouth to speak once more. "I'm Blaine."

"Do I look like I care?"

Blaine didn't look annoyed. In fact, he looked almost humoured. "You're right. But I'm going to tell you anyway. We don't have much time."

Puck's eyebrows rose as he chuckled darkly. "You mean that you're not going to kill me?"

Blaine smirked. "No. Quite the opposite, actually."

Puck's eyes darted all over the other man's body, checking for signs of weaponry. Of course, this was simply a reflex. The… _thing _before him obviously didn't need _weaponry. _He'd thrown Puck – a fully grown man trained to kill all sorts of supernatural beings – around like he was a ragdoll. "Give me one good reason why I should trust you."

"Well, you're not dead… _yet_," Blaine told him. "But you might be if we don't get moving. I've got to get you to safety."

Puck scoffed. "I'm not going anywhere until I know that Ellen and the others are fine."

"Well, they're not," Blaine said, standing up and brushing non-existent dust from his black jacket and tailored pants. "That's why we're getting out of here before you get into any more trouble."

Finding that he could now move again, Puck also rose to his feet. Crossing his arms firmly across his chest, he looked down at the smaller man with hard, unmoving eyes. He may have been the taller one of the two, but there was a presence that Blaine carried, something that determined him to be the man with the power. "Wait. How many are dead?"

"More than half," he replied emotionlessly. He didn't have time for this. If he didn't get the other man to a safe location soon, they'd be putting a number of innocent human lives in jeopardy.

Puck nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?" Blaine repeated, growing increasingly frustrated. "So we can go now?"

"No. We have to… you have to tell me who the fuck you are first – _what _you are."

"I'm an angel," Blaine told him, re-buttoning his suit jacket and slicking back his already gelled hair.

Puck's face paled. "No shit," he whispered. Then, his eyes narrowing, his shoulders tensed. "You're telling me that fucking _angels _exist now? No. Wait. Don't tell me that Santa Claus is real too!"

Blaine did not appear uncomfortable following the other man's outburst. "We don't appear unless our services are needed," he said blankly, his eyes unsmiling.

"_Needed?_ How were your services not needed when Quinn died? Or Sam? Or anyone else I've ever known?" Puck's face was growing red as his voice rose. "_Where were you when my father left us?"_

"I'll explain everything when you're ready. For now, you can follow me out of here."

"What if I don't?" Puck challenged.

"You'll either come of your own will or by force," the angel told him simply as he turned on his heel and opened the door a fraction. When Puck didn't immediately follow, he glanced back at him. "So, are you coming?"

Puck was warring within himself. His eyes roamed Blaine's body, noting the way he held himself. The strength in his shoulders and posture alone was otherworldly. "Why should I trust you?"

Blaine sighed. "You care about humanity as much as I do, Noah. Now please, before innocent lives are lost, follow me."

Puck nodded. "Right," he said shortly. "But if you try any of your hocus pocus crap on me-"

"Believe me; you've had enough of that for a life time. Literally."

* * *

><p>Rachel wasn't like most hunters. Most hunters would rather steal a car than walk ten blocks from Lima General Hospital to the Ohio State University campus in Lima. Rachel didn't believe in that sort of crime. She believed in doing the right things by humanity. What was the point in saving these people if she were just going to steal from them anyway?<p>

She arrived at the campus, turned left and found her way to the administration office, where she sidled up to the front desk and smiled at the tired looking woman seated at it. "Hello," she said brightly, "I'm Rachel Puckerman. I'm a relative of a student here. I was just wondering if you could tell me where to go."

The woman blinked several times before nodding slowly. "Give me five minutes," she replied slowly, her facial expression unchanging. She stood up from her chair and walked around the corner, leaving Rachel to her own devices.

The bright smile disappeared from her face when she was left alone. She could feel her cell phone inside the pocket of her tartan skirt. It was as heavy as lead. She took a deep breath as she pulled it out and stared at the screen. _0 Messages. 0 Missed Calls. _Nobody knew anything. Feeling that she could no longer avoid it, Rachel dialled the dreaded number and waited. As the seconds went by, the gentle ring, ring, ring, of the phone in her ear, she started to become restless.

"Hello?"

Rachel very nearly froze at the sound of her voice. "Uh, hi... It- it's me."

The person on the other end of the line was silent.

"Rachel," she added, feeling that it was necessary. There was still no reply. Her heart clenched as she uttered the next words, "Your daughter."

When there was, again, no reply, Rachel sighed irritably. "I wouldn't be calling unless it was important."

_"What is it? Does it have to do with the money?"_

Rachel bit back the smart comment that rose in her throat. Now wasn't the time. The events of the past twenty four hours still weighed down on her conscience, forcing her to relive the moments over and over again. _Quinn. _

"No. Not the money," she replied, shaking her head as she said so. "It's Quinn," she forced herself to explain further. Her name sounded strange on her tongue, heavy and sluggish.

_"What happened?"_

Not even a hint of worry for her own situation. "She…" She swallowed. To say it out loud was to admit that it had really happened. That she was really gone. "She's dead." She couldn't help the loud sob that escaped her lips as she uttered the last word. _Dead. Gone. Forever. _ "Some-something jumped out at us. The car got out of control… she-she couldn't reach the steering wheel." She swallowed, pushing the images of blood and smoke thick in the air, surrounding Sam's truck from her mind. "I watched her die, Shelby."

Her mother was silent on the other end. Silence, Rachel thought bitterly, immediately wiping her tears from her eyes, was all that Shelby understood. _"I'm sorry,"_ Shelby told her finally, her voice quiet and almost sympathetic. Rachel knew better, though, and before long her biological mother had returned to what mattered most to her. "_Does this affect our agreement at all?_" There was an edge to her words, almost challenging Rachel to tell her that it did.

Rachel swallowed her resentment. Their agreement was something that she didn't want to think about. "In a way."

_"You're not seeing her. I won't let you."_

She cringed at the sharpness in the older woman's words. "It was her dying wish. I _have_ to follow through with it."

_"What you have to do is hang up and never call this number again."_

Rachel was used to the way Shelby treated her. She merely blinked, stared out into the hallway, waited for any sign of movement. There was none. It seemed that the receptionist wasn't in a hurry. "Shelby."

_"I said no, Rachel. My daughter will not have anything to do with the world in which you live."_

Rachel felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She felt hollow - useless. "And what about your other daughter?" She suddenly snapped, unable to control her temper any longer. "It wasn't my choice to be brought up this way. I do what I do to help people. It's not my problem that you don't understand that."

_"Regardless,"_ Shelby replied, her voice monotone, _"You're not seeing her."_

A sense of defeat settling over her, Rachel's once strong voice faded to a whisper. "Please," she begged, "_Please_, mum."

There was an agonising minute of silence. _For once,_ Rachel though,_ she'd gotten through to her, made her understand her predicament. Maybe they could reconcile-_

The line went dead.

_I should have known._

Hastily shoving her cell back into her pocket and wiping the tears that still shone in her eyes, she blinked a few times, willed the redness to go away.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps from the corridor around the corner. She steadied her breathing and placed a calm, pleased smile on her face as she greeted the receptionist once more. "So, could I get the address?" She questioned the lady as she slumped back into her desk chair.

"No need," the woman replied, clearly bored.

Rachel froze for a moment. Then, recovering from her momentary lapse in professionalism, she opened her mouth to speak once again. "What do you mean?"

The woman's eyes flicked left, back out toward the corridor. Rachel followed her stare and watched, slightly in awe, as a man stopped before her.

Puck.

_No, _she reminded herself, _Aaron._

Aaron Puckerman was a sight to behold. Almost a carbon copy of his brother – minus the ridiculous Mohawk – he wore tailored business pants and a crisp white button-up shirt. He didn't smirk, like his brother would have, instead he smiled. However, the smile was guarded, like he knew what she was up to.

"City cousin," he greeted her, immediately following expectations and walking forwards with his arms out wide. Rachel copied him. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, his chest pressed against her chest as she felt his warm breath on her neck. It was all she could do not to shiver as he released her from his embrace. The receptionist watched them with little interest. "What brings you to Lima?"

"You, of course," she replied. Her words faltered slightly. She was still slightly heady after inhaling his distinct scent – a mix of aftershave and pine trees. "You have to show me where you live!" She went on, hoping that he _and _the receptionist hadn't noticed her strange behaviour.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Come on then."

He led her out of the building and further into the campus. After distancing themselves from the surrounding students, he quickly turned to her, a now worried expression on his face. "It's Noah, isn't it?"

She blinked. "Puck?"

"He's still going by that stupid name?"

Smiling slightly at the thought of Puck's real name, Rachel nodded. "He's in hospital, but you can relax. He- he's fine." For the first time that afternoon, Rachel thought of the angel – _Blaine._ Puck was fine because of him. Without him, she would be telling Aaron much different news. "He wants to see you, though."

Aaron's face had changed a lot within the last minute. At first, upon hearing that his brother was in hospital, he'd been horrified, but now, after hearing that he was in fact okay, he had shifted back to an air of indifference. "Well, if he's fine, that's good and all but I don't want to see him."

Rachel's mouth dropped open. "You don't want to see him?"

"Not exactly, no."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. He frowned as she did this. "You're not one of his _girlfriends _are you?" He wondered out loud. She didn't seem his brother's type – in fact, she was more _his _type.

"What?" Rachel gasped. Her cheeks suddenly glowing bright red, she quickly looked down at her feet, "I mean, no. Why would you say that?"

Aaron sighed and tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. "Well," he began awkwardly, "My brother doesn't usually keep friendships with women that he doesn't have _carnal knowledge _of."

She blushed. "He hasn't tried anything of that sort with me-"

"_Yet,"_ he interrupted her. He noticed when she dropped her head and stared at the pavement underneath their feet. "I-" he paused for a moment, watched as her big brown eyes met his once more. "I'm sorry for being rude. I appreciate you coming down here to tell me about my brother, but I really don't want to see him right now, especially after everything that happened between us."

"I lied earlier."

Aaron blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I lied about Puck being fine," Rachel continued. "Well... he is, at least physically,_ fine_, but something really messed up happened to us out on the road. We- _I _saw things that you wouldn't _believe_-"

"Trust me, not much surprises me anymore," he said, effectively cutting her off with a meaningful look.

Rachel glared at him. "I _know. _Look, just because I don't particularly dress the part, or even act the part, you can't assume that I'm not an excellent hunter. I do my job accurately and efficiently and I certainly don't appreciate you mocking me."

"_Whoa,_ lady," he exclaimed jokingly, holding his hands up in front of his body in a mock surrender. "I get it."

She stared hard at him for a few moments more. Then, deciding that he'd learnt his lesson – at least for now – she licked her dry lips and continued. "We're onto something. Something big."

"What? Like a vampire nest that needs cleaning out or something?"

She shook her head. "There was a congregation of hunters up at the Roadhouse. Ellen spoke to us for a while, told us of her plans. She'd found a horde of demons living inside an abandoned warehouse just outside of Lima. We wanted to try and take out as many as we could, whilst trying to gain information as to what they were planning," she took a deep, shaky breath. "But we never made it to the warehouse. We were attacked. Something jumped out at us, a demon I'm sure. Whatever it was... it pulled Sam from the car. We span out of control and crashed. Quinn… she's- she's gone." She wouldn't cry. Couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't. "Puck was too. But… he- _he _saved him."

Aaron regarded her, unsure what to do as the all too familiar tears sprang to her eyes once more. "Who saved him?"

Her face was guarded as she replied, "An angel."

* * *

><p>When Sam woke up, everything was blurry. He was too afraid to move at first for fear of collapsing again. <em>Where <em>was_ he_?

Trees. The first thing that he saw was trees. He was in a clearing, somewhere deep in a forest. The trees, they were far away, so far away. The sun hurt his eyes. He blinked; once, twice, three times.

Eventually, the blurriness went away. He made his first attempt as movement, pushed himself up on his elbows and wheezed as a hoarse cough rattled in his throat. He spat blood onto the grass next to him. Red against green. Green against red. It reminded him of Christmas. His breathing was shallow and his chest ached with hunger. The truck. Where was it? He tried to turn his neck but it hurt too much.

Puck… _Quinn_… Rachel. Had they made it out alive? The last thing that he remembered was being torn from the vehicle, his attacker's hands cold on his bare arms. He recalled the pain that shot through his body as he was ripped from the moving truck. He was covered in cuts, he realised, his body pierced with microscopic shards of glass. He started to pick what he could out of his hands.

Soon, he tried to turn his neck again. It didn't hurt so badly this time. He needed to walk, to run, to flee from this place, toward his friends, toward a hospital.

He attempted this, but his knees buckled out from under him in odd angles, causing an animalistic screech to escape him. It tore out of him, filled the air around him. He groaned again, tried to stand up once more, only to have his leg twist, bend and fall under his torso. Another scream, this time causing a flock of birds to fly out of the tree tops and away, away from the horrible sound.

Sam was panting as he let his head fall back against the grass. He cringed as the sunlight blinded him, forced him to shut his eyes. "Somebody…" he groaned, the words causing him pain. How long had it been since the accident? Hours? Days? _Weeks?_ "Please… help me…"

She watched him from just behind the tree line, her presence unknown to anyone.

* * *

><p>(an): I'll be introducing new characters very shortly, perhaps one in the next chapter. I'm really sorry about my updating, I'll try to get another chapter up in the next few days. Please review with your thoughts. The first reviewer to guess at what Shelby and Rachel's arrangement is gets my unconditional respect ;)


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